Order of the Pigeon
by AceOfMuggles
Summary: Cross-over between fandoms, mainly: Harry Potter, the Hunger Games, Star Wars, Twilight, Doctor Who and many more. All character death is removed. Set in the Marauder times.


It was a pleasure to feel the cool breeze, especially in such warm conditions. The air had a slightly humid feeling to it which warmed one's skin, and the calm gush of wind evened the temperature out perfectly.

Harry Potter did not notice this wonderful, albeit un-eventful, occurrence. He was far too busy pondering his lifetime at Hogwarts, and predicting exactly what his middle child's magical education had in store for him. Of course none of young Albus's adventures would be anywhere near as dangerous and fantastic as his own. No, that was Harry's legacy and the Boy Who Lived was proud to say that he was perfectly abnormal, thank you very much. He was the first person you would expect to be involved with anything strange or mysterious, because he was after all the King of such brilliance.

He, Harry, had defeated the Darkest Wizard of all time, and was incredibly proud to say that he indeed was the Saviour of the World. No-one compared to him, not even Voldemort. Many witches and wizards were still terrified to speak of Riddle's name, let alone his history. But Harry was not one to follow the usual ways of life.

'Voldemort' he whispered under his breath. Challenging the wind to carry his message along to the departing train. To tell his tale of blood, sweat and tears.

Yet the wind would not dare take up such a daunting task, it instead slithered around the train, spreading across the vast amount of forest. Choosing instead to refrain his story to the large wooden oak trees.

'Oh well' he sighed defiantly, focusing on the now departing train carrying an array of students from all walks of life eager to return to or be welcomed to their beloved magical castle. Harry could not put in to words how much he missed Hogwarts. How much he was going to miss his sons. And in only the short space of a year, his daughter.

As he stood waving, surrounded by crowds of tearful parents, and hoards of excited younger children waiting patiently for their turn to be whisked away to their new home, one single thought crossed his mind; his mind that had not been penetrated for over nineteen years.

All was well.

He closed his eyes for a moment relishing the peaceful attitude, still waving his hand joyfully back and forth. And wearing a smile bigger and brighter than Gilderoy Lockhart's.

"Yes all was most certainly well" answered a cold, high voice.

Harry's eyes snapped open, his hand frozen in place, his smile well and truly vanished. The voice in his head was most certainly not his own. But whose was it?

'Harry?' Ginny's voice whispered quietly, clearly not wanting to disturb those in close proximity. Her lips quivered slightly when she had finally sounded his name. Her head half-turned towards his, her hazel eyes hidden beneath ginger locks, however her expression was clear to anyone, she was absolutely terrified.

'Harry are you okay? Why have you stopped waving?'

'I'm... Imma' fine' he answered in his own voice. Though if you listened closely, just near enough to Harry's dry lips, you could sense that every aspect of his voice was entirely not his own.

Before Harry could drop his now stiff hand, Ginny clutched it in her own. He smiled half-heartedly at her, but she was never one to be so easily fooled.

'I love you' she muttered whist tenderly kissing his palm.

Harry should have felt relieved, over joyed in fact. However at that exact moment every cell in his body erupted into a tremendous pain. It was truly un-bearable; he wanted nothing more than to scream till his throat bled. To run away and never come back.

But Harry could not. He tried to control his shaking as he watched the tail of the Hogwarts Express disappear into the large expanse of the shockingly beautiful landscape. However it was most certainly not to be, before anyone could possibly question his motives Harry sprinted down the bustling platform pleading with his body to make it. To run away far enough that his family and friends could not see his whole body ripped to pieces.

Yet the last thing Harry remembered before it all went black was the shrill scream of his wife. The noise penetrated his mind, sending him into a frenzy of uncontrollable jolts. The blood pounded throughout his body, concentrating on his brain as the main attraction. Harry's head was fit to burst.

When Harry finally understood what was happening, it was far too late for him to occlude his mind.

There are many perceptions across the magical community of what exactly happens at Death Eater meetings. Anyone honourable enough to be invited to these exclusive events never survives to tell the tale. Instead their soul is shred apart after spending a mere moment with the sadistic criminals, their empty body fed to a temperamental snake whose idea of 'meal time' is the remains of innocent muggles, and their wand stripped of its core and left to burn in a green blaze of dead bodies. At least that is how the myth goes...

Harry Potter had always caught glimpses of when Voldemort had summoned his followers. His scar would burn ferociously, and suddenly he would see everything through the eyes of his darkest enemy. However never had he seen meetings in such a way as the present.

He was sitting, quite comfortably in fact, at the centre of a traditionally long table. The cushiony chair was particularly antique and most probably worth more than Harry himself. And the table appeared to be priced well over any sum of galleons Harry could think of.

Once he took a closer a look at the room he noticed a large number of indifferent artefacts. Many appeared to have some connotation of the dark arts, and the others seemed to only be used for show purposes. Of course not one of which had a single speck of dust. However they seemed to be so flawlessly intact that Harry could only imagine incredibly sterile fingerprints had had the pleasure of touching them once before.

In particular Harry was drawn to an overly polished piano situated in the corner of the grand, yet cold, room. He slowly began to leave his chair to examine the object more closely. Indeed Mr. Potter had always wished he could play such a magnificent instrument, conversely now was not the time nor the place — which he soon learnt when the large door to his left swung open.

Harry's first instinct was to hide, and he suddenly frantically searched the room for a suitable spot. Though when the cloaked figures began to ascend on the room and not one of which payed any particular attention to him. He thought best to simply lean against the elegant wallpaper which seemed to be decorated with the Black family tree.

He was dumbfounded for a mere moment, until he realised that not all of the Blacks' lived in the small but regal Grimmaud Place. Obviously they would have to have a manor to show off their wealth. Purebloods were far too rich for their own good.

When the room became uncomfortably full with occupants Harry felt slightly embarrassed. He had the odd sense that beneath those masks every eye was on him. To rid of his blush he decided to turn and decipher the family tree.

Instead of looking towards the left to Sirius's side, he chose instead to antagonise the three Black daughters. He began with Narcissa, he had become well acquainted with her after the war. Perhaps they were friends, Harry was not completely sure. She had a kind-heart, she showed reasonable courage, and she was always there whenever you needed her. However she had quite a mean temper, and chose to ignore you for days on end if you stepped out of line. Though Harry was quite sure the reason their friendship had not developed was due to Lucius Malfoy. They had tried to be polite with one another, but sadly Harry simply could not stand to look at his superior expression without ripping his throat out. Malfoy Sr was far worse than Draco. Draco was simply misunderstood, incredibly misunderstood in fact. And after quite a few long-winded conversations Harry and Draco had managed to explain themselves to one another. They would never be the best of friends however now they were most certainly not enemies. Harry smiled to himself, quite pleased he had come so far with his old school rival.

Harry chose next to scrutinise Andromeda. Unlike Sirius's mother, the owner of the rather beautiful tapestry had chosen not to burn her name off. In fact there was not a single scorch mark covering any of the disowned family members. Harry began to ponder whether or not the Blacks gad forgiven them, but then he remembered the perfectly decorated room. They obviously did not want to ruin their spectacular walls.

Poor Andromeda. Harry could not help feel sorry for her. They met regularly now, after both going through a long period of mourning for Remus, Tonks and Ted. Together they had developed quite a strong connection, both feeling the need to protect young Teddy; to tell him the stories of his parents courage, bravery and love. He was a strong man now, dating a Weasley as well. Harry could not help but see himself in the boy.

All of the names so far had left him rather elated. However the last sister's name was something to be desired: Bellatrix. How Harry hated that woman! May she rot in the deepest pits of the ground. She deserves it for what she did to her innocent victims. How one can take away another's life is beyond reason. Moreover to laugh afterwards is complete madness.

Harry was now boiling with rage, and suddenly he realised in complete horror that he was in her house. Of course it was hers. Malfoy manor was bigger, therefore Narcissa chose to leave their beloved family home, and sadly Andromeda had been kicked out, and given absolutely no choice to whether she wanted to stay or go.

Though there was the Lestrange household. Yet Bellatrix would need a private form of residence for her "private" meetings with the Dark Lord.

Harry was in utter disgust. He had admired her antiques. He had examined her walls. He had never hated her more!

Then, Harry realised something, his mouth forming the shape of an 'o'. Why had he not chosen to panic previously?

Bellatrix Lestrange was dead...

The Death Eaters were dead, redeemed or rotting in prison...

Voldemort was dead, and therefore Harry was not meant to have any visions...

"HOW IN MERLIN'S NAME AM I HERE?"


End file.
